


The Wolf Guards Her Memories

by orphan_account



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 07:26:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: AU where Margaery survived the Sept explosion and returns to Winterfell.Sansa confesses all she had been through with the Boltons





	The Wolf Guards Her Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Just.. no. I'll probably do a second chapter

Margaery and Sansa Stark had a strange relationship at first, one many people would assume to be manipulation and desperation. It was frowned upon, but Margaery had seen it that way before.  
Looking back, her use of Sansa to gain the North was not a proud moment of hers, and one that haunted her like a hounding dog.  
She shoved the thought aside as she lighly knocked on Sansa's door. At first she had been confused and dazed, attempting to understand why the lady had sent for her at such a dark hour, but then she understood whatever it was must have been urgent.. and personal.  
The door opened quickly, revealing Sansa standing warily. She held herself rigid, as if propped up by a spiked poll. Her lips were drawn in a thin line and her pale freckled skin was slick with something.  
Tears.  
Margaery's heart started to pound like a horse's hooves and she held back a gasp, an urge to hug the taller girl and never let go.  
"Please, come in", Sansa said, stepping aside. Her voice was clipped and hollow, making Margaery all the more worried.  
She could only nod, stepping inside the evidently larger room than her own. But it was unkempt, the bed sheets strewn about haphazardly as if someone had been thrashing.  
Pillows dotted the floors and it painted a clear picture. "Are you alright?", Margaery asked, tempting herself away from a smile. It would be in good spirits, yes, but would not do what she wanted.  
Sansa sighed heavily, and for the first time Margaery noticed the younger lady was shaking. Her nerves jostled and buzzed, mirroring how Margaery was starting to feel.  
The Stark sat down on the edge of the bed, gingerly, as if she was afraid the sheets would bite her.  
Margaery frowned but stayed standing.  
Wordlessly Sansa revealed a small slip of tattered parchment, looking as if it had been crumpled into an angry fist.  
She unrolled it with a permanent unease, trying to keep her thoughts grounded enough so she could read. 

"Lady Sansa,  
I send my deepest and most apologetic regards. But do not fret, little bird, for you will be safe with me again soon. I ride for Winterfell and hope to see you waiting.  
-Lord Ramsay Bolton"

Margaery pinched her brows together, not understanding. She knew Sansa had been married to this man, but besides their grotesque symbol, she didn't know what had happened.  
When she looked up again, Margaery saw Sansa biting her lip, enough to draw blood. Her hair was messed, framing the fresh tears in a wave of fire.  
Margaery's heart skipped a beat. "Darling, what's wrong?"  
Sansa choked for a moment, a tear slipping down her face. "I can't go back to him", her voice was small, weak. "What if he succeeded..?"  
Margaery started to piece the problem together, but beyond further thought she sat down next to Sansa and wrapped her arms around the younger girl.  
Sansa trembled violently, burrying her head in the other girl's chest, trying to muffle her morose sobs.  
The Tyrell's lips parted slightly as she ran her fingers through Sansa's hair, running down her back and rubbing in soft patterns.  
It seemed like hours before Sansa stopped crying, trying, begging herself to be strong. But the confidence fled her as surly as it could, leaving a broken and battered girl behind.  
Margaery, seeing Sansa this way, reacted almost motherly, catching a final tear and wiping the other girl's cheek softly.  
Sansa shuddered, turning her head down. "I'm sorry..", she whispered.  
The older shook her head. "You have nothing to be sorry for", she paused, "if You told me why you were afraid.. maybe I could help?"  
The Stark looked momentarily frozen, as if the thought had shaken her so deeply her marrow iced. "H- he", she sighed shakily. "I was his pet. Whenever he was mad he would- w-would.. hurt me."  
Margaery clenched her fists, trying to still the anger that coursed through her veins. She would kill him, flay him alive if she had to.  
"He can't hurt you now", Margery said, keeping the tranquility lacing her voice.  
"That's what I thought before Little Finger traded me over to him! That's what I thought when I saw Theon. He tortured me! Every night.. I can never..", Sansa tried to cry against but only managed a strangled sob.  
Margaery could hear no more and instead pulled Sansa into an imbrace, holding her close, tightly. "He will never hurt you again my darling. I will watch him burn before he lays another finger on you. I promise."  
Sansa looked up slightly, cheeks and eyes nearly as red and tear stained as her hair. "He is too strong-"  
"Look at me", Margaery said forcefully, lightly grabbing Sansa's chin and locking their eyes. "He will never hurt you. I promise by the old gods and the new. I promised we'd be friends, and I plan to honor that."  
The younger girl bit her lip, blinking a few times. "But-"  
"No. I WILL protect you. He will never touch you. Winterfell is your home, and your pack will forever guard you", and for once, Margaery was sure of herself. The first time truth and honesty were solidly within her grasp.  
"Thank you", Sansa breathed, body relaxing from exhaustion. She rested her head against Margaery's chest, wrapping her arms around the woman's waist.  
Margaery stiffened but was used to it, the contact, the warmth. Just not from this girl.  
The Tyrell layed back against the sheets, wrapping her arms around Sansa and holding her like a babe. She would never let go, and no damn Bolton was going to change that.


End file.
